


I Never Stopped

by Callie, cerie



Series: L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux [3]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/pseuds/Callie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the greater scheme of things, his wounded pride doesn't really count for shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Stopped

*****

Mac admittedly doesn't know much about economics but she knows enough that when Sloan comes to her lit up about something, she needs to make time for it in her broadcast. Sadly, she's only got 42 minutes to work with on any given evening and while Sloan might want to go off about Greek banks for two hours, Mac doesn't have the time to give her. She does concede to give her ten minutes instead of five tonight and she thinks that's a nice compromise, especially since they're ahead on the curve making a big deal of increasing liquidity in an increasingly-dire European market. Or something. She isn't an economist.

What she _is_ , though, is a bloody brilliant EP and so when Sloan gets a look like she's going to run wild with this story and Will keeps encouraging her, Mac decides to rein them back in.

"Will, coming in on seven minutes. Don't want to pursue that line of questioning. You won't have time to finish." If it's a little softer than usual, it might be because she's still feeling tender toward Will after a few weeks ago even though they haven't discussed it at all.

Will acts like he doesn’t hear her and if it weren’t for him tapping his pen lightly, she’d think he honestly hadn’t. As it is, he’s heard it and still isn’t doing anything about it, which just stresses her out to no end. She owns him between eight and nine and he knows this; why, exactly, is he risking her having a complete meltdown? It probably makes sense in his head even if it doesn’t in hers. Will lives and dies by his own rules and only occasionally listens to hers and that’s because Mac knows she can be particularly persuasive. She’s about to employ some of that now.

He's still not wrapping it up which Mac thinks is equal parts Will and Sloan's faults and while she can't control Sloan at the moment (but Jim sure as hell is trying) she _can_ say something else to Will. She tries again, voice a bit more terse than before. She knows he heard her, if the pen tap means anything and so perhaps he'll just have to hear her _again_.

"Billy, I mean it. We're 90 seconds to done. Wrap. it. up."

He looks perturbed she’s said anything and Mac knows this is going to end up in a fight. She hasn’t had a good row with Will in about the last six hours so, really, they’re probably about due. She hasn’t ever really fought with anyone the way she manages to fight with Will and Mac thinks that’s telling in some way or another. It’s not something she’s going to contemplate when she’s about to run over and cut into the 44th floor’s precious ad revenue.

"Thank you, Sloan. We'll have more updates on the financial situation in Europe tomorrow. Terry Smith is coming up next with the Capitol Report from Washington. Goodnight."

He shuffles his papers around and waits till they're clear before turning to Sloan and the anger on his face is pretty evident even though the thick glass surrounding the studio. It is...not going to go well for Sloan and Mac can’t say anything since she was more than a bit irritated with them both. Will's chewing her out (it seems - Mac can’t make out the words), which means Will's cross and she is likely next to be targeted. Still, it's work, and Mac can handle work.

She leaves and comes out to the anchor desk, nodding slightly at Sloan before eyeing Will. "I suppose we've already had the discussion about going over? I don't want to rehash it."

"I know how to wrap up a show," Will says shortly. "I don't need a lecture." He shuffles some papers around and looks like he’s trying to ignore her.

"And you were simply the epitome of grace and poise," Mac quips. "Stunning, really. I don't like it when you go rogue on me, Will, and tapping your pen isn't really acknowledging my instructions as well as, oh, I don't know, actually following my instructions when I give them?"

She has no idea why she's so riled except she hates when things are out of her control and this was out of her control. So is their current relationship.

"How far over were we?" Will says sharply and Mac knows she’s poked at the wrong thing today. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? "Like two seconds? I think it's a lot worse if I cut Sloan off in the middle of her goddamn sentence, which is not only fucking rude but makes it look like we don't really give a damn about economic news and just have her on for eye-candy. If you want to yell at someone, go yell at Jim because Sloan lost him halfway through her segment and he apparently couldn't tell. Don't bitch at me like I don't know how to be a fucking anchor."

"Bitching? Doing my job is bitching now? Of all the misogynistic and boorish...how about you trust me to carry my bit, hmm? I know what I'm talking about."

She feels flustered and hot and really doesn't want to be arguing with Will in front of everyone.

"How about you trust that I'm doing the best I can up here and if it looks like I'm ignoring you, I'm not doing it for shits and giggles." He yanks his earpiece out, drops his papers on the laptop and walks out.

Mac throws her hands up and sighs, trying and failing to avoid making a scene. The grips and the interns are scurrying about, frightened about them in a temper, and they should be. She and Will are nothing to be trifled with when they’re in the middle of a heated argument. They can argue on an almost-professional level and Mac is sure that has to do with the fact that Will’s a former prosecutor and she...just likes to be right. Always.

Mac very nearly bowls into Lonny on her way to Will's office to continue this futile fight and she apologizes even though he assures her she doesn't need to. He opens Will's door and she lets him; Mac likes a gentleman and Lonny is certainly that. He ought not have to suffer because Will’s being an insufferable asshole.

"I'm sorry for making a scene in public. I should have been more trusting."

*****

Will's just reaching for a cigarette when she comes in--it's in his mouth, he's about to light it, and there's Mac. Goddamn it. He's been smoking a lot less since Mac had her freak-out over his health (which, he supposes, was kind of justified) and never around her, but there are times when he needs a goddamn smoke and this is one of them. He weighs his need for the cigarette against the need to not piss Mac off any further and Mac wins.

"I'm sorry I was an ass," he says, putting the unlit cigarette on the desk with a small sigh of disappointment.

"Really? There's a first," Mac tosses out, and then looks, slightly, like she regrets saying it. "You can smoke that if you want. I won't stop you."

He makes an unsatisfied noise and leans back in his chair. "Maybe later," he says, instead of the _thanks for your permission_ that was the first thing nearly out of his mouth. Maybe later he'll smoke the whole fucking pack. "Was there something you wanted?" He doesn't mean for it to come out short, but he's tired. And hungry, too, which doesn't help.

"Just to apologize for making a scene," Mac says, eyeing him. "You know, I thought you'd quit smoking. I haven't seen you smoke in ages."

Her tone is a little less accusatory this time, and she sits lightly on the edge of his desk. "I would prefer if you didn't but I don't get to make those calls, do I?"

_No, you gave up the right to comment on my health when you slept with your ex boyfriend_ , he thinks, but he also thinks it's progress that he doesn't actually say it when it pops into his mind. Not enough progress, apparently, since he still had the thought. "I didn't quit," he says. "Yet. I did cut down, though."

"That's good," Mac says softly. "I think I left some things at your apartment," she adds, after a beat. "Because I can't find them. Have you run across anything?"

He's momentarily distracted by the sight of Lonny and Charlie talking a few yards away from his office and he hopes it's not because of the newest death threat that's come up. Will usually dismisses all these threats, he thinks they're just a bunch of whiny internet losers puffing up their fucking chests over nothing, but this one feels different and both Lonny and Charlie agree, which is why Lonny's spending more time at ACN when in the past he'd escort Will to work in the morning and not hang around unless Will left the building before he went home for the night. Will was firm in his decision not to share this information with Mac; she has enough shit on her plate without worrying about the newest lunatic of the week.

When they don't immediately interrupt, Will realizes Mac is still talking to him. "What?" he says, a little guiltily because he's sure it's obvious he wasn't giving her his full attention. "No. I didn't find anything, sorry. What are you missing?" The only thing he recalls being left behind was the shirt of his she'd been wearing, and he's kept it in the back of his closet and hasn't had it sent out with the rest of his laundry.

"I thought I left...shoes. But I don't think I wore any other than the ones that got wet, so it's stupid, but I feel like I'm missing a pair of shoes and I thought I might come to check? Just to see? They might have ended up in a closet or something."

If he's totally honest, he really wants her to come over. Not that he wants her to come over so they can have sex again, because they both agreed that was a bad idea, but he wants her to come over so they can spend time together. He craves the interaction with her, just stupid stuff like having dinner together or...and the sex, too, but he knows it's a bad idea. But the latest death threat makes him nervous. He really hasn't given a shit about the others and he only puts up with Lonny because there's no arguing with the insurance company, but this one feels different. And he doesn't want to put Mac in a place where she might be in danger just by being with him. He doesn't want her to know about it, either, because she'll just worry and if it turns out to be nothing, why make her worry? He's hurt her enough. "No need for you to make a special trip," he says, trying to pretend everything's fine and dandy. "I can look when I get home tonight and if I find them, I'll bring them in."

"Oh, right, of course," Mac says, pressing her lips together. She smooths down her skirt in a gesture Will knows well, an attempt to find an outlet for her nervous energy. "Look, don't worry about it. Obviously, it's been three weeks, I have other shoes. I can buy shoes! I have a credit card and a salary and really I can just go right now and...and buy shoes."

He knows that nervous little dance she does when she's embarrassed and he hates that he's done it. But he doesn't know how to make it better without telling her about the death threat and he doesn't want her to freak out about it. "You're wearing shoes right now," he points out. "Nice ones. I like them."

"Yes, obviously these shoes will suit just fine and the other imaginary shoes I left in your apartment three weeks ago when we did the thing we did that we're not talking about, those shoes can stay there, permanently, because they have a new home now." She gives Will a desperate little look that cuts him more than her wounded-bird face does. "I should go. The show's done and really, there's no reason for me to be here right this moment, is there? I could...go home. Yes. And my home, not yours."

"MacKenzie." He touches her arm, curls his fingers around her wrist. "It's not..." He sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Will's not saying _he_ can talk about it. More than likely, he won't be able to. He's just asking if _she_ wants to talk about it.

"Yes," Mac says quickly, only to follow it with, "No. Not really. I wanted to _do_ something about it, more than talk, which I should be ashamed of and I'm really not. I'm guessing you don't exactly want to talk about it yourself?"

"Talking is a strategy that doesn't seem to be working for me right now," Will says, thinking of his futile attempts to tell her what the message said. It's frustrating and a little depressing and he's still working on it.

"Me either," Mac says, shrugging. "It seems to be a running theme. I guess, if there's nothing else, I should go? I just wanted to see how you felt about me retrieving my shoes and I guess I can just write them off as lost if they don't turn up."

He gets the metaphor she's going for, with shoes playing the stand-in role for their entire relationship, and he knows what she's getting at and he hates how fucking complicated this is. Threat aside, he's not sure them going to bed again--as much as he wants it--is going to solve their problems or even nudge them in the direction of solved. More like a giant shove in the direction of 'fucking things up even more'. And if she comes over to his place, he knows that's exactly where it's going to go. He's not sure about her, but he knows his willpower where she's concerned has worn down to about nothing.

"Look," he says. "Don't write this off as lost."

*****

That sparks a faint glimmer of hope in Mac's heart and she nods. Maybe they aren't so far from where they'd been before her mistake and they can find their way back together. She smiles and tilts her head toward the door.

"Lonny's hovering. Has he suddenly decided I'm a threat to your glorious person?"

"He's bored," Will says. "I told him my life was in constant peril when you're around and he should thoroughly investigate you. I seem to recall being assaulted with a magazine when I was incapacitated." It’s a bit of a tease, so maybe this argument won’t be so bad after all. Even though Will’s in something of a bad mood, so is she, and they seem to have tabled it for the moment.

"I have been known to take advantage," Mac says airily, keeping an eye on Lonny for a moment longer. She presses her lips together and lets out a quick breath to dispel her nerves.

"Are you hungry? I'm starved. We could go to Hang Chew's and have sushi?"

There’s a moment where Mac feels like she can’t breathe. She’s made the first offering of a relationship, the first gesture of something more-than-friends and dating that there’s been between them since the hurricane and the sex she probably shouldn’t have had but enjoyed entirely too much to regret. It’s in his court now, to take her up on it, and she really hopes that he will. "We could order in, make it a working dinner?"

"Absolutely," Mac says, smile a little brighter. It's not what she wants exactly but its a starting point and that's all she can really ask for at this juncture.

"Do you have any particular requests? I'm sure we can get anything you want, considering it's ACN and it's you."

"Surprise me. You choose." Will says and it feels more like a genuine request than a dismissal. Things are just looking better and better even if the evening had one hell of a shitty start and Mac feels like she’s bouncing a little. She feels like it’s written on her forehead that yes, she’s dating Will McAvoy and she likes it, thank you very much.

"Thai? I could go for Thai," Mac decides, then pats her pockets to find her wallet. It's, predictably, not there and she imagines it's probably still tucked away in her purse and locked in her desk. Damn. "I'll be back in a bit, I think my wallet's in my desk. What do you want? Curry?"

Mac isn't entirely sure now considering his ulcer but she hates to comment on it and make him feel like she's nagging or overstepping her bounds.

"Don't worry about it," Will says, picking up the phone. Maybe it is an actual date, considering he wants to pay. Mac feels like he’d have been happy to go dutch if it was just a dinner between friends and, again, it feels like she’s putting way too much thought into this. "What do you want?"

"Pad thai, double order," Mac says, slightly sheepish. "I haven't eaten at all today and I thought I ought to make up a few calories. I'll get faint otherwise."

Really, working is more important than eating and sometimes she just...forgets.

"Can't have my EP fainting in the middle of the newsroom," he says lightly, and orders them some dinner.

Mac arches a brow. "Your EP, then?" She doesn't voice it, but the unspoken question is _am I just your EP_ and Mac isn't entirely sure she wants the answer to that. She thinks she might not like the answer to that if she presses it too hard.

"I'll try to eat plenty of carbs and not just live on caffeine and adrenaline."

"Dear friend and most trusted partner," he clarifies. It’s the sort of sweet, sincere thing that Mac is so unused to getting from anyone, _especially_ Will, that she’s a little floored and doesn’t quite know which way is up. "You should have some protein," he adds, clearing his throat, and Mac wonders if he just floored himself. Serves him right if he did.

"Protein, right. I'll get one of Don's bars," Mac says before taking a chance and leaning in to kiss him. It's just a peck and it lands mostly on the corner of his mouth and not on his lips but it's affectionate in a way she hasn't really dared with Will since, well. Before. Before everything.

"Thank you, by the way. For...trying, I guess, since you didn't particularly have to. We could just write it off if you don't want more."

"No one in his right mind would just write it off with you, Mac," he says and he seems equal parts nervous and sincere. It shakes her to the core, again, and she’s found that’s becoming a habit between she and Will lately. As far as habits go, she likes it a lot better than the smoking.

"I'm uh... gonna go check the vending machine," he says, scrambling up from his chair quickly enough that it rolls a few inches away. "I'll be back."

*****

Mac isn't sure what to think after yesterday's botched attempt at asking herself over to Will's place. He did share dinner with her (even if it was take out in the office) and he acted like things were all right even if it didn't line up with not wanting her to go home with him.

And none of that lines up with the gift bag on her desk or the ridiculously expensive shoes tucked inside it. The card is simple: _I found your shoes, W._

He won't bring her home but he'll buy her designer shoes? What is going on? Mac doesn't put the shoes on (she leaves them in her office) but when Will gets in, she turns up in his office with the card.

"What's this about?"

Will looks like he’s just been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and Mac can’t help but smile at that; he’s done something nice for her and now he has to own up to it. It’s strange, considering she doesn’t know the motivation behind the gift, but his reaction is a little endearing. Just a little. "I just...wanted to buy them," he says. "They're not really my size," he adds, a lame attempt at humor.

"I can imagine they might pinch your toes," Mac says dryly. "Please don't tell me you went yourself to get them? I'd hate to see on Page 6 tomorrow that you've become a cross-dresser."

She beams a bit. "And thank you."

"Will McAvoy's Secret Life: What ACN Doesn't Want You To Know," he says, miming a long headline in the air with his hands. "Exclusive!" He sighs and shakes his head. "No, I didn't go myself. I can hardly go to the goddamn grocery store." He peers over the desk and Mac guesses he notices that she hasn’t actually put them on. "Did you try them on?"

"Not yet," Mac says and she feels her skin going a bit pink. "They're not very sensible shoes, are they? And you know I normally dress very sensible. You're the star and face of ACN and I'm just the support." She's fond of neutrals and understated, classy things. While the shoes are gorgeous and classy, they are not understated.

"This show would not be what it is without you, Mac," Will says. "You're not 'just' anything."

"Well, thank you, but I just meant I don't need flashy shoes," Mac says, both flattered and embarrassed by the praise. Will isn't usually so candid about such things and she wonders what it could possibly mean.  
"But I do like them, very much." She pauses. "Do you want me to wear them for you?"

Will seems flustered and starts rearranging things on his desk. Mac guesses he’s trying to avoid the issue and she’s going to keep pressing because she isn’t about to let him get away with that. Not this time. Not when he’s gone and bought her shoes that are so ridiculously priced that she would actually have to budget for them or refinance her place. Neither is worth it for shoes. "But if I happen to see them on you, I think that would be fine."

"Then maybe I'll wear them," Mac says, trying to seem nonchalant when she's anything but. "Maybe I'll wear them to dinner with you?"

There. The ball's in his court now.

Will shuffles papers around some more before he closes his desk drawer and looks up at her. "Maybe," he says, and Mac thinks he sounds a little guarded. He’s hedging the issue and it annoys her considering she _slept with him_ only a few weeks ago and now he’s acting like she grew two heads because she wants to know if he wants her to wear the stupidly sexy shoes _he_ bought for her.

"I...am going to go work on putting together an economics package for tomorrow. Sloan might even be impressed that I understand subprime mortgages now."

Not really but Mac just can't be in the room with him right now; her head's spinning and she really doesn't understand why he refuses to be seen with her in public. They'd dated before without issue.

"I think that's a good idea," he says carefully.

"Of course," Mac says, nodding slightly as she makes her way out. Obviously there's something going on, some reason Will regrets what they did the other week, and she isn't entirely sure she wants to put her heart out to be hurt if he's going to act like this about it.

*****

It's Friday before Will sees her in the shoes.

"I thought we'd stay on the economy and keep Libya in B-block. Do you like that or do you want to switch?"

Until today, Will's successfully avoided any situations where Mac might hint her desire to do anything that might result in them having sex again or going out in public, which means he hasn't seen her as much as usual and he finds that less interaction with Mac makes him really fucking cranky. This is why he says, "Libya first, then the economy," just to be difficult, before he _really_ looks at her. Those fucking shoes... he'd imagined what her legs would look like in them and really, his imagination isn't shit compared to the real thing. She's paired the shoes with a skirt that's a little shorter than her usual choice (Will's seen enough of them to know) and she looks fantastic.

Mac nods and comes around to his side of the desk. She leans her hip against it and watches him carefully.

"Mmhmm, Libya first, all right. Very traditional and newsy. We can be newsy. So, Will. Have you...noticed anything?"

It takes him a few seconds of staring before he realizes that she's asked him a question, and then a few more seconds to get appropriate words from his brain to his mouth. "Yeaah," he says. "I noticed. I'm stupid, not blind." Okay, so maybe not _appropriate_ words, but at least they are words instead of a blank stare.

"Stupid? Oh yes, incredibly stupid," Mac says, shifting so she's actually perched on the edge of his desk. She looks outside the windows of his office and, seeing nobody paying attention, crosses her legs and lets one shoe dangle from a stocking-clad foot. "I have to wonder why a man would buy a woman this _incredible_ pair of sexy shoes and then just...not want to talk to her or take her to dinner or, well, and this beats everything, _fuck her._ "

_Jesus fucking Christ._ Just when Will thinks he's built up defenses against her, she goes and does shit like this and he has no clue what to do. "It's not about fucking, Mac," he says, a little stubborn and defensive. "I bought you the shoes because I thought you'd like them and to say I was sorry for being a dick the other day. Okay, for being a dick every day," he amends, because he knows he is.

"You are most certainly that," Mac agrees, but her tone's a bit softer. 

"Will, I want...I want to be worth more than clandestine fucking and work dinners. I don't like feeling like a sordid affair you want to hide, even if it's not your intention, and I just think...I just think you ought to be honest with me about what you want. I'll understand if you just want the...you know, the sneaking around and the keeping me secret. I just want more than that."

What Will wants more than anything is to open up the drawer (above which she is currently sitting) and pull out a little blue box that contains the largest fucking diamond ring he could get his hands on on short notice and ask her if they can just try this again.

He has no doubt that she's the one for him. He's just not sure if he can handle having her.

Will doesn't even think about whether she's going to comment on his smoking or not; he needs something to occupy him so fucking badly at that moment that he reaches for the pack in the back of his desk drawer and lights one up before he's even thought about it. "This is complicated," he says, finally, flicking the cigarette against the ashtray. "It has nothing to do with wanting to hide you, Mac. There are... things we should talk about, I know. And I can't." He fucking hates the way that sounds. He hates how it sounds weak and uncertain and that's not who he fucking wants to be.

"Well. I think you should figure it out," Mac says quietly. "I'm tired of being alone, Will, when the person I want to be with works beside me every day. I'm not a good person. I can't work with you and spend time with you and argue with you and love you without being with you, I just can't, and I'm sorry if I need words but. I need the words. I need to talk about this. I think we're worth more than this, is all."

"I used to be okay with words," Will says. He doesn't mean words in general. God knows he has plenty of them on air. He means words with _her_. Back in what feels like another life, he told Mac he loved her more days than he didn't, knew how to give her compliments, knew how to make her laugh. Now, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. "And I'm trying to be again."

But the key is forgiving Mac, and he isn't there yet. It's not even about feeling like he needs to punish her for it anymore. Maybe it's his wounded pride, more than anything.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Mac says, shrugging helplessly. "Get on my knees and beg? I'm to the point where I'd do that." She lets the words hang there for a moment, and adds, "We were good a few weeks ago, weren't we? Good together?"

"What--Jesus, Mac, yes. Yes, we were good. We were always good. Until--" He bites it back, frustrated; he's not going to keep berating her about it because honestly, what can she do about it now? Nothing. It's up to _him_ to get over it. "I don't want you to beg. This isn't about fucking with you, or trying to get back at you or anything else. This is about me needing to get my shit together." He stubs out the end of his cigarette and pushes the ashtray away.

"Well, you're hurting me. I hate to put it so plainly but it hurts, Will. Maybe I deserve it. I did something horrible to you back then and I don't deserve to be with you, I don't, but I need you to give me an answer one way or the other instead of stringing me along and buying me designer shoes and...and taking me to bed and ignoring me afterward. It hurts me. I'm human."

She bites her lip and slides off the desk and though her back is to him, he can see her square her shoulders and her whole body stiffens a little, like she's trying not to cry. It makes him ache inside.

"And we're doing the economy first, not Libya."

Will doesn't know what to say to her that won't make it worse, so when Jim sticks his head in a few minutes later and says they're waiting for them in the control room, Will's glad for the interruption. He lets Mac go without saying anything else and gets changed and by the time he gets down to the studio, he no longer feels like he's going to punch something out of pent-up frustration. He doesn't bait her during the sound check and doesn't argue with her about the order of the show, and when she comes in during the first commercial break to talk to him about the tone he's using to interview the economist they have on via satellite, he doesn't snap back at her like he wants to.

She leans over the desk, marking up what few notes he does have with her own comments, and that's when everything goes to hell.

Will's aware of what's about to happen about a second before it actually happens, but it's just long enough for everything to seem to move in slow motion, to notice the guy in the corner reaching for his gun, for him to be aware of Lonny making his move from across the room and for him to remember that he asked Lonny to leave his gun in the gun safe every day when he comes in the building, for Will to try to shove Mac out of the way and duck, but he's too fucking late and they both end up in the floor and there's so much blood everywhere and it's not his, it's Mac's. He's vaguely aware, like it's coming from very far away, of people yelling about going off the air and calling 911 and lot of thumping and shouting and scuffling but all he can think about is Mac. He's never seen this much blood or heard someone's breath all strained and whistly and it fucking _terrifies_ him. It's the thing he's been dreading for weeks and now it's playing out right in front of him and there's not a goddamn thing he can do. "Mac," he says, trying to force himself to stay calm and not really succeeding. "Hang in there, you hear me? Don't you fucking die on me."

"Working on it," Mac manages in a soft, breathy voice Will can barely hear. She's shivering, maybe with shock, not that Will knows a goddamn thing about shit like this, and half her blouse is dark with blood. He yanks off his suit jacket and presses it against her chest, trying to do what he can to slow the rush, to give her a chance.

"The message," Will blurts, high on a wave of sheer terror and not really thinking about what he's saying, just trying to give her something to focus on until the paramedics get here and realizing that he might have really fucked up this time, it might be too late, if he never gets to tell her because he's been a goddamn coward. He has to tell her. "I said I wanted to tell you that I never stopped loving you, MacKenzie. It's always been you. So you have to hang in there."

Her eyes are closed and she's not responding to him and he's not even sure if she can hear him anymore, but he doesn't stop telling her until the paramedics take her away. Because if he's fucked this up, if he's had his head up his ass for too long and he's missed his chance, if he gets MacKenzie back just to lose her like this, he's never going to forgive himself.

*****

Will loses track of time. He doesn't go home, he doesn't go to the office. He doesn't leave the hospital and he's not leaving the hospital until MacKenzie does. Lonny's there most of the time, although he's now supplemented by a rotating team that's on Will 24/7 at the insurance company's request, which happens to also be Charlie's request and one that Will doesn't have the heart to argue with even if he thinks it's pretentious to have a mini-Secret-Service following him around. He wonders what would have happened if he hadn't insisted that Lonny keep his gun locked up in the gun safe, if he hadn't insisted he didn't need an armed bodyguard. He doesn't tell the new guys to leave their guns at home.

This was exactly the thing he was trying to keep Mac at arm's length to prevent.

When Mac wakes, Will's there, sitting by her bed. It takes her a while to push herself to full consciousness, and for a moment Will's not sure she's going to manage it, but eventually she opens her eyes and frowns a little in that disoriented way that comes from a fog of pain and sedation.

"Where am I?" she whispers, and every word is an effort. "How long have I been here? Why do I feel like I've been drug behind a garbage truck for about three days straight?"

The relief Will feels when Mac wakes up makes him feel like fucking throwing up, but he manages to keep it together. "Hey," he says. "Take it easy. You're in the hospital. You were shot by somebody who was trying to get to me. It nicked your lung and cracked a couple of ribs but you're going to be okay." And she will be, if he has anything to say about it. If necessary he'll fucking quit NewsNight and take care of her himself.

"Oh, no wonder everything hurts when I breathe," Mac says quietly. She's obviously woozy and Will wonders if she's even ready to be awake yet. Maybe he should encourage her to just go back to sleep for a while. "Did my parents come?"

"Not yet," Will says. "I called them, told them what happened. They said they'd come when you felt up to having visitors." He'd spoken to Mac's father and had promised to keep them updated. "Your mother wanted to come out right away, your dad wanted to wait until you felt better."

He takes her hand, and he's quiet for a moment. Her hand is thin and pale in his and it makes him feel sick, knowing this is his fault. "I'm sorry, MacKenzie," he says finally.

"For? You didn't shoot me." Her words are slurred, like she's speaking through a dry mouth. She squeezes Will's hand lightly and rubs her thumb against the back of it, soothing him even as he's soothing her. "Could you get me some water?"

"Yeah." Will carefully lets go of her hand and pours some water from the pitcher on her bedside table into a little plastic cup with a bendy plastic straw, but he doesn't fill it all the way so it doesn't spill. "Do you want to sit up a little?" he asks, looking for the little buttons to adjust the bed so she doesn't strain herself. He feels like he's hovering and he doesn't want to smother her but he's been fucking terrified this was going to end in the worst possible way and now he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Just a bit," Mac says, feeling around for the control. "It's hard to breathe when I'm lying down." She tugs a little at her hospital gown, like she's trying to assess the damage, but her movements are a little uncoordinated and obviously limited by pain. "How bad is it, Will? Did I have surgery or anything?"

Will helps her get the bed where she wants it. "Hey, don't do that," he says, offering her the cup of water instead. "You had surgery and you're all bandaged up and I think it's going to look worse than it really is." She'll get upset, not that he can fucking blame her, and Will's not sure if he can handle it right now. "Just have some water."

"I'm not afraid of scars, Will," Mac promises, taking the water and sipping it a little greedily. Will hopes she's not going to make herself vomit. It won't be pretty. "Did they get who did it? I didn't even get a chance to look at him so if they're waiting on me for positive ID, I don't know that I'll be able to give them anything at all."

"Yeah," Will says. "It was the new grip that came on about a month ago, everyone in the studio saw it. Lonny took him down before he could get away. He'd been making threats, it was all orchestrated and planned out, but we didn't put the threats with the face until it was too late. I'm sorry. He was trying to get me and he got you instead."

"Better me than you," Mac says softly. "You're the face of the news. I'm more replaceable professionally than you are."

"No, Mac. Fuck that." Will drags his chair closer to her bed, takes her hand again. "It shouldn't have happened at all, and it's not 'better' you than me. You're not 'more replaceable'. Yeah, I'm the one in front of the camera but you're the one who keeps it from being ratings-whoring tv trash. You're the one that keeps it focused on what's important--and Jesus, MacKenzie, even if you weren't I still wouldn't want this happening to you. But don't worry about work. Just think about getting better. That's all that matters."

"If you're feeling guilty, please don't. I don't need you sitting vigil by my bedside night and day to get me well if this isn't where you want to be, Will. You don't owe me anything for this, all right? It was an accident, plain as day, that I was the one who caught that bullet and not you." She smiles, lopsided and sort of pathetic, which Will attributes to pain and drugs. "But if you want to stay, I want you here."

"I'm staying," Will says. "Not out of guilt, not because I think I owe you. I'm just...staying." Okay, it's partly out of guilt, and partly because this scared the everloving shit out of him and he needs to see with his own two eyes that she's going to be okay.

"Everything is really blurry from...you know," Mac says, with a small frown of concentration, like she's trying to remember. "But I remember you kept talking to me about something. All I know is that it was you but I could never quite make out what you were saying. It's been driving me insane for the last few minutes trying to piece everything together." She watches him and even though she's tired and fuzzy, her eyes are sharp with interest. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I remember. I was..." Will rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. He's told her this twice already, once high on drugs, once high on terror, and he knows he can't be fucking stupid about this now. If he ever owed her these words, he owes them to her now, because he's fucking lucky to have a third chance to tell her. And the thing is, he doesn't think he's going to be fucking stupid about it this time.

This time is different. Because he's realized that the only thing holding him back from forgiving her was his stupid wounded pride and it's time to let it go because in the greater scheme of things, his wounded pride doesn't really count for shit.

"I was telling you about the message," he says. He's looking at her hand in his, and he makes himself look up to meet her eyes. He owes her that, too. "The message was that... I wanted to tell you that I never stopped loving you. It's always been you."

Finally saying it is a fucking relief.

*****

"You never stopped?"

Her voice cracks ever-so-slightly because she's stunned that this is what the message was about. Mac had imagined he'd forgiven her and that was the message, that he forgave her and they could put it behind them. She never expected _this_ and she's dizzy from emotions and the harrowing few days she's had.

"So you not wanting to date me, where does that come in?"

"It was never about not wanting to date you," Will says. "I knew about the new death threats and I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want you to be a target. I mostly ignore the death threats and I put up with Lonny because I like him but this one felt different. It felt like a real threat and it felt like something I should be concerned about. And I didn't want to put you in danger because of me. I thought if I only saw you at the office, you'd be fine." It makes perfect sense and Mac feels bad about that.

"Oh. So you're not ashamed for people to know we're together? I suddenly feel like the biggest ass," Mac says, laughing and then wincing when it pulls at her stitches and sends a sharp pain radiating through her wound. Damn. Hurts to laugh.

"It was worth it to see the look on your face when I walked in with those shoes. You looked hilarious, Will."

"And you looked amazing." He's still rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand and it makes her feel good in a way that’s almost indescribable. It’s a simple, sweet touch that doesn’t ask anything from her and it’s been so long since that was common currency between she and Will. "And no. I'm not ashamed."

"Will you actually be seen with me and risk getting plastered all over the tabloids? That's the true test of love," Mac says, tangling her fingers with his so she can be as close to him as manageable while she's laid up and hurting all over. She squeezes his hand.

"I can see it now. 'Will McAvoy Slums With Producer. Are The Days Of Models Done?"

He laughs softly. "Yes, I will be seen with you," he says. "If you don't mind being seen with a loudmouth with a target on his back." He leans up from his chair to kiss her cheek. It's light and not much of a kiss but Mac loves it anyway.. "When you get out of here, we'll talk," he says. "And I'm just going to tell you now, I'm going to be fucking terrible at it, but I'll try."

"I think we said what was needed," Mac says, smiling a little when he kisses her. It's so unlike Will, at least this current version of him (though it's a lot like the old Will from Before) and it's tender and sweet. She likes that more than she can possibly put into words.

"Now, I want to know who I need to blackmail for something to eat. I really want ice cream. Can I have an ice cream?"

"I will get all the ice cream you want," Will assures her. "Anything else? A book? Music? Pajamas?" The last one is teasing. "I'm going to call Charlie and let him know you're awake. Do you want me to call your parents?" He seems a little restless and at loose ends so Mac decides to tease him a little and see if he’ll get that much more flustered. She has few pleasures while injured and in a hospital bed and this, apparently, is one of them.

"Are you going to put them on me?" Mac asks, eyes twinkling a little in amusement. "Because really, you don't know that the nurse did that for you. I could have lied."

Mac is actually shit at lying, which Will knows, and her grin just gets wider at the thought. He sees through anything she tries to hide except the one thing, the _Thing_ that tore them apart.

"Please call my parents. I want to see them. And, I think, they might want to see you."

"I know you didn't," Will tells her. He leans over and kisses her cheek again and says, "I'm going to get your ice cream and make those calls. You stay put. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?"

It's an accurate statement in more ways than one considering that she's been halfway around the world and still wound up thirty feet from him every night doing the news. There's no place she can go that doesn't bring her back to Will, in some capacity, and she guesses that's an object lesson that maybe she needs to stop running from things that make her happy.

Or maybe that's just too deep a thought through the haze of pain and medication and she should just relax. She chooses the latter.


End file.
